


Butterflies

by punchablenun



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punchablenun/pseuds/punchablenun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some cutesy Johnlock fluff. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies

A/N: so, I wrote this a while ago and just now got around to uploading it. This is unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes. Reviews would be appreciated!

Sherlock slowly made his way up the stairs to the flat, hearing John's heavy footsteps behind him. Opening the door, he began to take off his gloves. He did the same thing every time; almost like a ritual. First he would remove his gloves and stuff them in the pockets of his long, oversized coat. Next, he would unwind the blue scarf he always wore, revealing the pale, unblemished (except for a mole or two) skin of his neck. Having hanged the scarf on the back of the door, he would then remove his coat. Sherlock was wearing a well-fitting purple shirt that hugged his lean frame. He and John had just arrived home from a date; it had been a nice, relaxing evening (a bit of a rare occasion for these two), and as they were holding hands, walking through the falling snow, the moment Sherlock had been dreading finally happened.

Obviously he knew not everyone was approving of homosexual relationships, and he also knew he should have expected this, but it still came as a surprise. And seeing the look on of hurt on John's face as the group of idiots shouted horrible, derogatory things in their direction (things he'd rather not repeat, not even in his mind) had made him almost completely numb with anger and shock. John had slowed his pace but Sherlock just tightened his grip on his hand and pulled him quickly along. Now, standing in their flat, Sherlock turned to him, and John opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock interrupted him.

"Please don't say anything. I want you to know that no matter what any brainless imbeciles say about us, it doesn't matter. Nothing in this world matters more to me than you. I'm not going to let anyone's words change my feelings. I spent three years destroying Moriarty's web to get back to you and nothing is going to take you from me again."

And with that he closed the space between them. Gently taking John's face in his hands, Sherlock pressed their lips together; it was a bit awkward at first (they rarely showed affection, even in the privacy of their own home), but after a few seconds things became smoother. Sherlock felt John's hands tangle in his curly hair, pulling him closer and kissing him harder. He moved his hands from John's face, wrapping them around the shorter man's waist. Why don't we do this more often?Sherlock wondered. John pulled away from the kiss and, keeping their foreheads pressed together, murmured the three words that had never been spoken to Sherlock before, not by anyone. "I love you."

It was at this moment that Sherlock realized he had unintentionally fallen head over heels for John Watson. Of course he knew he loved the army doctor, but this feeling was new. Sherlock felt dizzy with glee, and butterflies were fluttering in his stomach. Butterflies? He thought with slight irritation. I never get butterflies. Even when he had seen John for the first time in three years, or when they sat close together on the couch watching crap telly, Sherlock had never felt like this, so why now? Why would the simple utterance of three little words make him feel like a teenage girl?

He felt a chuckle bubbling up from somewhere inside him, and then he was laughing, and then John was too, and they were leaning on each other, trying to catch their breath. Sherlock again pulled John into his arms and buried his face in his hair, kissing the top of his head and memorizing the smell of his shampoo. John sighed happily and Sherlock smiled at the sound, because John being happy meant Sherlock was happy too. John. His John. He always had been and always will be.


End file.
